Misadventures in the Mohave
by nukavictory
Summary: Why is it that when the Courier punches out their dying companion, suddenly everything is all well again? Why is it that sleeping in a bed for an hour suddenly heals them completely? Are they a voodoo doctor? Have they sold their soul to Caesar? And most worryingly, have they recently turned anyone into a newt? Rated T for Terrific.
1. An Auspicious Beginning But Not Really

_The adventures of a lethal joke of a courier who happens to be absurdly lucky. Disclaimer: I fucking invented Fallout. __You like Fallout? _You owe your entire goddamn garbage existence to me. That is all.

"I'm Six. Courier Six," said Courier Six with a dramatic flourish, feeling it was necessary. Six wasn't sure what a dramatic flourish involved, but tried to do it anyways.

"What an unecessarily dramatic flourish. What happened to One, Two, Three, Four, and Five?"

"I think they're dead, probably."

"That's unfortunate. I'm Arcade. And aren't you awfully young to be traipsing across the wastes on your own?"

"Traipsing?"

"Never mind. You said you were a courier?"

"Well, not exactly. I _used_ to be a courier, but then I took a bullet to the head."

"Holy hell. Do you need medical attention?"

"Nah, just let me nap here for a bit."

"I think you could use some medical attention. I don't think your spine is supposed to do that."

"A nap is good enough. Look, I'm all better! Wow, I wonder how that happens. Must be one of those scientistic things."

". . . What the hell."


	2. Post Bullet Employment Still Pending

The next morning, Arcade awoke to find Six crouching in the corner of the tent, struggling with a Stimpak. Arcade took it away and did the injection himself, fearing Six would jab it in the wrong vein.

He swore silently. He had just jabbed it in the wrong vein. He looked up at Six, who apparently hadn't noticed and was currently grinning at him in a way that almost certainly terrified him, if he cared to admit it.

"Say, do you want to run with me, Daddy-o? I could use a doctor on my travels," said Six, playing with a scab.

"Hey, don't do that! And I'm not that old, you know. I'm thirty-ish. Well, late thirties anyways. And I am doing research here, I'll have you know. It's all very scientific and important."

"Okay then, I'll be on my way!"

"Wait. Where are you headed? Not that I'm curious or anything."

"Oh just here, there, to and fro. I'm on my way to the Lucky 38 right now. And then there's this place called a Deathclaw nest? I hear they're real neat."

"Hey, are you kidding me right now? No ones been in the Lucky 38 for centuries, at least."

"Well, Mr. House wants to see me. He said so. I've got the invitation to prove it."

"Oh really. From who."

"One of those robots on wheels. Well he's a cowboy robot ninja sheriff, but he goes by Victor these days."

"A cowboy robot ninja sheriff, who goes by Victor, gave you an invitation to the Lucky 38, to seek an audience with the reclusive Mr. House, who hasn't been glimpsed by human eyes in several centuries?"

"Wow, it's like you just said everything I just said, except shorter."

"Are you all right in the head? Actually, don't answer that. Well, at the very least I can keep you from getting too shot to pieces. You aren't with the Legion, are you?"

"What's a Legion? Is it that scary bug that bites you and sucks your life out?"

"You're incredibly wrong but, in a manner of speaking, terrifyingly accurate as well. Have I got a lot to tell you. . . hey, what's that?"


	3. In Which We Meet Rosie the Eyebot

"Oh this? This is a Boone."

"No, not, well, hello there." Arcade coughed.

The Boone-thing's facial muscles twitched in a way that could be construed as a hello, if one were so inclined to interpret it that way.

"Ah, a Hemingway-esque anti-hero, are we now?" said Arcade.

Boone grunted, which Six and Arcade took to mean, shut the fuck up.

Well, Six thought it meant, isn't that a tasty-looking rat jumping down the street there, but Six was always having trouble with nonverbal communication. Really, any sort of communication, actually. Arcade turned a brilliant shade of Molerat pink. Six chirped.

"Hey! Hey! Is that that sunburn thing you're always talking about?" asked Six, looking delighted with this sudden burst of knowledge and genius.

"This? Well, this, well, it's, well, I have sensitive skin and that's _perfectly okay_, Mother said so. But anyways, I was talking about, well, that." He pointed at a little robot hovering and whistling happily around Six's shoulders.

"This is Roosevelt Academy."

"This is, what?"

"Roosevelt Academy, this is Roosevelt Academy. See here, where it says, Roosevelt Academy. Do you have a hearing problem? Or a seeing problem? I think people think _I _have a hearing problem, _and _a seeing problem, actually. I was leaving this one town, see, and they kept saying things like, 'don't come back now, you hear,' and 'we don't really want you around, you see,' all the time. Honestly." Six paused.

It was a long pause, and Arcade and Boone were suitably impressed and awed, and then, after a bit, slightly fearful that Six had finally broken.

Six's eyes lit up suddenly (Boone tried to motion with his hands and elbows that it had something to do with electrodes in the skull, and maybe witchcraft, and Arcade wrinkled his nose in understanding) and delivered one final line through concentrated effort and sheer idiotic will – "I call him Rosie!" – and then fizzled out in a great show of sparks and sound.

Arcade, Boone, a strange hooded figure in the back, and the unfortunately named Eyebot all clapped politely.


	4. Mystery Science Theater 2281!

"I still don't get how you're doing this," said Arcade. He was referring to Six's apparently magical regeneration abilities, which still mystified him.

And now, apparently, Six could punch out a nearly-unconscious Arcade and restore him to full health. Sure Craig told him not to think too hard about it, but he was a scientist, not a sniper, god dammit! He looked pleadingly at Veronica, who only shrugged and waved her hands mysteriously.

Arcade was _supposed _to think too hard about _everything_! Arcade didn't feel that either of his companions truly appreciated the fact that Six was a medical mystery and/or possibly a witch doctor.

Were those the same things? Arcade could never remember, except for the wonderfully expletive quality either term had on any of the hack doctors he had encountered in his training with the Followers.

And now here was a kid who was at least _partially _brain damaged, performing techniques that, by all rights, should have been impossible according to the laws of science, nature, and all that was well and holy. It was enough to make a good doctor feel like _he _was the one losing his mind.

"Me neither! Don't question it. Just accept it." The inane smile that accompanied this remark betrayed no sign of genius.

"I can't do that, I'm a scientist!" Clearly, Six didn't understand Arcade's plight. Arcade wasn't sure exactly _what _his plight was, if he had to put it into words, but he was very sure it was there and therefore important in some way. Arcade doubted that Six could even _begin _to grasp the gravity of the situation.

"Do you even know what gravity is?"

"Sure, it goes good with Strange Meat Pie!"

Arcade groaned, and in response Six let out a noise that could be recognized as something between a whoop and a holler. Arcade clapped a hand over the source of the noise.

"Would you kindly shut up a minute, Six? Act your age, not your name!"

"I don't remember my name, and I'm not sure how old I am. So . . ."

"All right, you were shot in the head, I get the name thing. How can you not know how old you are?"

Six glared at him. "How old are _you_, then?"

"I, well, I'm in my thirties. Ish."

"See, _you _can't remember, why should I?"

"Hey, I remember! I just, I'm just not that forthcoming with the exact number, is all."

"Besides it's not like I've ever looked at myself in a mirror or anything."

"Ever? Not ever? Well, that would explain your appearance, at least." Arcade smiled smugly. _That _had been clever, he thought. He looked at Boone, whose ear twitched with something resembling suppressed laughter and a deep hatred of the self. Arcade turned back to Six expectantly. Then he remembered who he was working with.

Six sat there for a good twenty minutes, brow furrowed. Then – "Hey!"

Arcade wished he had a working camera. He wasn't sure he had _ever _seen a face turn that particular shade of purple. So the reaction time was a bit slow. The results, however, were plenty magnificent.


End file.
